Loneliness
by Launa Alvara
Summary: Short story done for the Cabin Pressure Prompt Meme: 'One night, Martin turns up at Douglas's doorstep and asks if Douglas could hold him for a little while, because he just can't take being alone any more.' It's not written as a Martin/Douglas fic per se, but you are free to read into it what you will! Lot's of angst, with just a touch of humour.


Martin isn't sure how he ended up standing outside Douglas' front door. He certainly didn't set out to end up here and he can't for the life of him remember the journey here. But here he is, standing on the doorstep in the pouring rain, drenched to the skin. It seems like a good metaphor for his life really.

The sky had been cloudless when he'd walked out from his house two hours ago. He'd hoped the fresh air and the stroll would clear his head of the gloom that has set in earlier in the evening, hoped that the exercise would take his mind off the looming bills, lack of sleep and deep ache in his stomach that toast hadn't been able to satiate. And for a while it had, the stars had twinkled up above in the clear still air and the moon shone brightly casting long shadows. It had all been so peaceful, so calming, exactly what he needed. He'd taken a route along the river, breathing in the cool air and reassuring himself that things would be ok, they always were. He always managed to find a way to get through. He reminded himself how many people were far worse off than him. How many people had _nothing _to eat at all, had much less money than he and certainly never got to do the one thing in life they longed too. But he did. The sacrifices of a comfortable life were worth it, if it meant he got to fly.

But, as was so often the case, the positive thoughts had been replaced by something else as he walked. He realised once again that it wasn't the constant scrimping and saving that bothered him, it wasn't surviving on a diet that most students would baulk at, or the hard physical work of his second life-giving job that made him ache deep within his bones. It was the loneliness.

He kept it at bay as much as he could, trying not to dwell on it, trying not to think about it. The days at MJN were the best, those days it was easy to forget. Surrounding by the mismatched family that MJN had become, he didn't feel lonely, he couldn't. He'd even come to accept, and in some weird way, look forward to the constant teasing from Douglas or Carolyn, all of which was could somehow be made better by a simple exclamation from Arthur about how brilliant he was. Martin had never really felt brilliant, if he was honest, but sometimes, just sometimes, on days at MJN he felt he was closer to it.

On his days as a 'man with a van' loneliness was never an issue either. He simply didn't have time to think about it, his mind consumed with the simple effort of lugging bits of furniture or boxes from one place to another. The physical exertion just didn't give him time to reflect on anything else, and on a good day he could collapse exhausted to bed and fall straight to sleep.

Today hadn't been a good day. Today he hadn't been tired enough to fall straight to sleep without a second thought. Today he had laid staring at the ceiling for hours, willing sleep to come and take him away from the constant _thinking. _It was days like today when the loneliness become crushing, all consuming, like a stabbing pain that wouldn't go away. There was no one to ask how his day had been, no one to share the stories of the day and no one to tell him that everything was going to be ok.

He didn't remember exactly when he had started to cry. It happened sometimes on these walks, though he often fought the tears away. He hadn't noticed the gathering clouds and the rain that started to fall as he was too far from home either. He let himself cry freely, safe in the knowledge that the rain would hide the tears today, and he walked. Just walked and walked, with no destination in mind.

So here he was, at 2.30am in the morning, standing outside Douglas' house. How had he ended up here? Why had he? He considered Douglas a friend, of course he did, but not the kind of friend that he would ever run to on days like this. He didn't have any of those friends. This was a crazy idea, absolutely insane. He could already hear the teasing and comments in the flight deck tomorrow morning. And yet. He reached out to press the doorbell, watching his hand like it wasn't quite his own.

The rain continued to teem down, soaking into his already sodden clothes. Martin looked down at himself, suddenly realising what a disaster he much looked like. Not a part of him was dry anymore, his flimsy coat being far from waterproof. His hair was plastered down as the rain streamed down his face.

After what felt like an eternity, the door in front of him swung open.

-oOo-

"What the hell?!...Martin? It's 2.30 in the morni..."

Any anger Douglas felt at being woken up at such an hour disappeared in an instant as he watched Martin break down in front of him. Huge sobs shuddered uncontrollably through his whole body as he lifted his hands to his face.

Douglas was frozen for a second, unsure exactly what to do. All his years as a hard-living Sky God had not prepared him for the sight of his Captain crying hysterically on his doorstep in the early hours of the morning. This, he noted to himself, was not in any of the manuals.

He shook himself into action, suddenly noting the torrential rain that he'd somehow managed to miss in the shook.

"Good God, Martin. Get in here." He reached out to grab Martin's sleeve and guide him through the front door, casting an eye toward the heavens as a rumble of thunder sounded. "Has something happened?" He asked as he closed the door firmly, the sound of the rain fading behind the double glazing. Douglas tried to imagine what catastrophe would have brought Martin to his door in such a state.

He turned to see Martin shake his head ever so slightly, trying to compose himself ,trying, and failing, to wipe his face. Martin was soaked, utterly drenched.

Douglas couldn't help but note how small and vulnerable Martin looked. Gone was the prissy, rule abiding Captain, artificially inflated by self-importance. Gone was the irritatingly proud man who was constantly striving to be taken seriously. Instead, in his place, was a snivelling mess of a man with not an ounce of self-respect left to his name. Something truly awful must have happened to reduce Martin to this. It made Douglas heart hurt, not that he would _ever _admit that to anyone if questioned. Least of all Martin himself.

Instead he found himself reverting to standard Douglas mode, after all, it was what he knew best. "Then I hope you have a very good reason for waking me up at this time and dripping all over my hall floor."

Martin avoided his gaze, swallowing thickly and sniffing, desperately trying to pull himself together. "I...I..." He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse. Douglas also suspected he was trying to think what to say.

Douglas desperately tried to think of something encouraging to say, but damn he wasn't very good at this. Lord knows he wasn't fantastic when it was his own daughter that was upset. He almost wanted to laugh, realising he'd found something that Douglas Richardson wasn't very good at. Martin would probably be thrilled.

"Come on, I've got some towels in bathroom. " Douglas made a move down the hall, deciding that perhaps the practicalities should be dealt with first. That, at least, he _could _do.

"I just want a hug..."

Martin spoke so quickly and quietly that Douglas almost missed it. He spun around on his heels to face Martin again, unsure he'd actually heard correctly. "I'm sorry?"

Martin kept his gaze low, coughing slightly as if embarrassed. "I...mean...I...I feel so...alone, Douglas."

"Did you just say you want a hug?" Douglas heard what Martin said, but couldn't help fixating on his first statement.

"I...er..."

Douglas could see the mortification in Martin's face. He _had _said that, but Douglas was almost sure he hadn't meant to. Not to Douglas, of all people. Martin would never be _that _stupid. The ammunition was just too delicious to even think about. This would be weeks and weeks of fantastic teasing material. Jokes were already beginning to form in his mind.

And then he looked at Martin's face again; the mixture of tears and rain still dripping down, the agony of his situation still apparent. Too cruel Douglas, even for you. His resolve crumbled under the forlorn gaze of his friend. How could he make a joke out of something that had brought Martin to him like this?

He moved again without thinking, walking almost slow motion, something in involuntary taking over. He reached Martin and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in. He felt Martin tense immediately, but he didn't move. Douglas tried to ignore the absurdity of the situation, also ignoring the fact that he was now soaked as the water from Martin's clothes seeped into his own. After a few moments he felt Martin relax, sinking into Douglas' arms and bringing his own up around Douglas' back. He couldn't tell if Martin was crying again or simply shivering from the cold of wet clothes, but he tried not to think about it.

Hugging Martin didn't feel as strange as Douglas thought it would; he even found himself quite instinctively rubbing a comforting hand over Martin's back. Martin let out a sigh as he clung to the back of Douglas' dressing gown, the shivering lessening as every moment passed. After some time Martin seemed to find his voice again.

"Douglas?" He asked, without moving away from the embrace, his speech clearer than before but still quiet.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about your floor."

* * *

_Comments/Reviews welcome!_


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